Responsibility Fog
Honey, let's TALK.
It's been one of those months. You know the kind; where one week you spend a day home sick with a migraine, the next week: home sick with a feverish boy, and then after that: home sick with a sore throat yourself. It's one of those months where you get all the way to work and realize your much anticipated venti coffee has caffeine even though you ordered it without because you're allergic. It's one of those months where your purse looks like a hoarder's den but you can't possibly clear it all out because you know all the things are in there to remind you of something, but you can't possibly remember what. It's one of those months where you drive 12 miles to the nearest KFC for dinner because eff the calories and the hormones that make them grow 16 wings on one bird; You. Just. Can't.
(Twice.)
It's been one of those months where you flick to the next screen when your blog comes up (that empty blog that is sneering at you, reminding you of your chronicling inadequacies), so that you can gorge yourself on others' posts, admiring their word choices, phrases, pictures, praying with and for them, longing for the time they evidently had to share their stories with the world.
It's been one of those months where you think that if you don't remember every single frigging cute thing your son has said or done you may kill yourself in the face, but you can't remember everything and all those pesky little slips of paper probably blew out of your purse the minute you pulled out your chapstick anyway.
It's all your overwhelmed little mind can do to keep holding on as the Great America roller coaster of life swings you up and down steep hills, slamming your bruised body harshly from one side to the other. When your fingers are gripping white on the handrail that you're positive is filled with Ebola germs, your hair is whipping your glasses off and you're grinning wildly because you're supposed to enjoy this, dammit, because that's what everyone says!
And all you want to do is stop. Stop the pulling, the whining, the crying. Stop the constant negotiating. Stop the anxiety. Stop the to-do lists. Find a bit of productivity every day where you can be creative or productive - or both, without someone wanting something from you.
Do you know the feeling? When you get bogged down by all your responsibilities that you lose your focus? You really, honestly lose track of the meaning of life (as trite as that sounds), because you're in too deep of a bucket of duties (doodies - double meaning) that you can't see your hand in front of your face? And forget about taking care of yourself, you're too busy taking care of everyone else. It takes you even longer to notice that you're not operating at your best, not doing what you need to do to utilize all your assets. And once you realize it, it takes you that much longer to claw out of the blind little hole you've dug in order to scamper over to the safe zone of your trench before they start firing again.
I have these times. They last about 1-2 months before I open my eyes and notice. Finally.
It was the way I was so exhausted all the time.
It was in the way my patience would go from 60 to 0 in less than a second.
It was the way I ate whatever I wanted to eat, glorifying in my guilt-less pleasure.
It was in the way that I rolled over after turning off my Sunday morning alarm.
It was the way I slowly backed away from the gym, only heading there to poop in private.
When this happens to me, I know I need an outlet. I need to let Ollie and Doug have their own time so that I can have mine to sit in silence, focus, reconnect, organize and create.
When I finally got myself to do this, I dug all the little slips of paper out of my bag, cleaned my bag, and dusted off my computer. I began reading my notes and it was funny what I found. I started remembering all these little things that Ollie had said, the way he had looked, the situations he had found himself in - and found that he, little Ollie, was teaching me about what it takes to tick. To tick productively and sensitively - and fully.
Like the time...
When I was getting a little tired of him not eating his dinner: I asked him to please eat his supper and he said, "No, let's talk. How was your day, Mama?" And I was reminded to have sweetness and interest in others.
When he was angry with us telling him what to do: He'd say, "I'm MAD about you talking!" And I'm reminded that as a little person, there's not a lot of ways he can speak up for himself.
I said I was jealous that Ollie was so little and able to do something: He said, "Someday Mama, you can do that when you're little." I said, "Oh, Ollie, I'll never be little." And he replied, "Aw, SURE you will!" And I was reminded to practice hopeful encouragement.
We check on him after he's pooped: Ollie hop off the potty, asks us to close our eyes, points to the john and says, "Surprise! I pooped THREE POOPS!" And I'm reminded of celebrating the simple joys in life.
He scurries every time I start to count to 3 (giving him multiple chances to make the correct choice, i.e.; 1, 2, 2 1/2, 2 3/4, 2 7/8...): As long as I don't say the word "three" by the time he comes back, he shrieks and goes, "Mama! You din't even to count!" And I'm reminded of the ability we have to believe what we want to believe - which can be a positive thing.
We ate a super French meal of Cassoulet and French bread (Mama had her wine), we drew on mustaches, played French jazz music and ate in candlelight: The next day I realized that it had been Bastille Day. And I was reminded of having fun just for the sake of it.
I made something new for dinner: I was really excited about it. Ollie took one bite and said, "Mama! That makes me YUCK!" And I was reminded of the importance of honesty.
We went out for a date, just the two of us: Daddy had a late meeting, so we got some hamburgs at Lion's Tap, looked at motorcycles in the Harley store and ate cheesecake at Baker's Square. We finished up with a trip to the library, too. Oliver said, "Mama, that was fun to see all da moor-cycles. Thank you Mama!" And I was reminded how one decision can go a long way.
During that same date, when I caught the waiter's eye and he agreed with me that the restaurant's rules were to eat with a fork and spoon: Ollie was using his fingers to eat the cheesecake and shrieked, "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" And I was reminded of how easily embarrassment can wound.
Oliver decided that he had to dress up like a cowboy to go outside: I went around the house trying to find all the things he had decided he needed. And I was reminded that imagination is everything.
Oliver decided that he had to be a superhero before school: I was instructed to put the cape and opera gloves on him and I somehow convinced him that my cardigan was just a cape with sleeves. We ran around the outside of the house at 7:30am, stood at the top of the slide to watch out for bad guys, and swung on the swings making sure our capes flew behind us. The neighbors must've thought we were nuts, and school definitely got a kick out of it. And I was reminded that one of my jobs is to strengthen self-assuredness.
When I reminded him that we're not taking a whole box of cars to school, just one: Ollie said, "Okay, Mama! Calm down!" And I was reminded how much of a parrot kids are and to choose my words wisely.
When we've asked him to do something that's a little complicated: Washing his hair, putting on his socks, brushing his teeth; he reminds us that "I just need ta' practice a lil' bit." And I'm reminded that I need patience. I need to let him practice without hovering or showing him ways to do it faster or better.
I introduced him to his first roll down a hill: I think Ollie may have imagined it was a bit of a trick. at first He loved it, though! And I was reminded of the need to be flexible.
We were heading to Michigan: Ollie said he was going to "round up a fish." And I was reminded to view things the way kids see them.
After we left the lake and all of the cousins, Ollie started singing "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" a little differently: He started singing, "Mallory, Mallory, Mallory, Mallory, Life is but a Dream." And I was reminded that many of his memories are ours to build and foster.
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He kicked a bucket at a kid in school and gave him a cut just below his eye so deep that he had to have stitches: I was mortified and offered everything we had to the parents of the stitched -p child (who said, "boys will be boys!"). Ollie just shrugged and told us, "The teacher said it's okay. S'okay." And I was reminded of how one must show calm to receive calm.
We played hospital: Ollie stood over me and said, "Hello 'dere. My name is Dr. Oliver Turk, and I'm the doctor of bad guys." And I was reminded to cultivate his positive view of the medical community.
He spilled his milk: Daddy said he'd help with the next glass and Ollie said, "Yeah, Daddy. Because that milk is a lil' drippy." And I'm reminded that everyone needs help, not scolding.
He started swim classes: The first time was great - it was brand-new opportunity, swimming in the water, what fun! Then we had the second and third classes, in which he sat on the side of the pool and the teacher spent much of the class trying to coax him to get into the water. At the end of the 30 minutes, he was in the water, splashing and having a grand old time, telling us how much fun he was having. And I'm reminded of how sometimes we all need to ease into things - especially after naps.
Ollie punched me so hard in the face that I sneezed twice: He was angry because I wouldn't let him wear his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles shirt to Kenzie's Curious George 4th birthday party. We almost didn't let him attend the party after the punch and lots of spitting, but we did out of sheer guilt because it was his grandparents' last night in town and Gaga had bought him a Man-In-The-Yellow-Hat hat. And I was reminded that some things do matter enough to start a tantrum, but not a tee-shirt.
After reading all these notes and writing this post, just like that, my attitude turned right around. I found myself calming down and thinking about all the messages my little guy was giving me.
Patience.
Flexibility.
Creativity.
Imagination.
Joy.
Encouragement.
It's in my nature to go careening just a titch out of control from time to time. I'm a pretty intense chick and I know that about myself. Even so, I do need to recognize when I need a break and when I need to take some control. But how to do I find time to create? How to make sure that I breathe and take care of myself too? Could I stick a post-it with "Take care of yourself!" on the dishes cabinet without looking like a complete weirdo to everyone who comes over? Could I hang a motivational poster in the bathroom and not scoff at it?
Maybe the answer to this isn't to change, per se. Maybe the answer is to just take a moment once a day in the craziness of life to just sit, breathe, and do something creatively. I wouldn't change, but I could take Ollie's advice and just "practice."
I'm always going to have those months when I'm in a Responsibility Fog. The trick is to recognize when it happens and not let the haze overtake me. Let it go, as the great song says. Maybe I'll cover the desk with the memories needed to create my scrapbook for 2012. Maybe I will start working out at the gym to create a better lifestyle. Or maybe I'll continue going there just for a good poop.
After all, that is one of the joys in life.
It's been one of those months. You know the kind; where one week you spend a day home sick with a migraine, the next week: home sick with a feverish boy, and then after that: home sick with a sore throat yourself. It's one of those months where you get all the way to work and realize your much anticipated venti coffee has caffeine even though you ordered it without because you're allergic. It's one of those months where your purse looks like a hoarder's den but you can't possibly clear it all out because you know all the things are in there to remind you of something, but you can't possibly remember what. It's one of those months where you drive 12 miles to the nearest KFC for dinner because eff the calories and the hormones that make them grow 16 wings on one bird; You. Just. Can't.
(Twice.)
It's been one of those months where you flick to the next screen when your blog comes up (that empty blog that is sneering at you, reminding you of your chronicling inadequacies), so that you can gorge yourself on others' posts, admiring their word choices, phrases, pictures, praying with and for them, longing for the time they evidently had to share their stories with the world.
It's been one of those months where you think that if you don't remember every single frigging cute thing your son has said or done you may kill yourself in the face, but you can't remember everything and all those pesky little slips of paper probably blew out of your purse the minute you pulled out your chapstick anyway.
It's all your overwhelmed little mind can do to keep holding on as the Great America roller coaster of life swings you up and down steep hills, slamming your bruised body harshly from one side to the other. When your fingers are gripping white on the handrail that you're positive is filled with Ebola germs, your hair is whipping your glasses off and you're grinning wildly because you're supposed to enjoy this, dammit, because that's what everyone says!
And all you want to do is stop. Stop the pulling, the whining, the crying. Stop the constant negotiating. Stop the anxiety. Stop the to-do lists. Find a bit of productivity every day where you can be creative or productive - or both, without someone wanting something from you.
Do you know the feeling? When you get bogged down by all your responsibilities that you lose your focus? You really, honestly lose track of the meaning of life (as trite as that sounds), because you're in too deep of a bucket of duties (doodies - double meaning) that you can't see your hand in front of your face? And forget about taking care of yourself, you're too busy taking care of everyone else. It takes you even longer to notice that you're not operating at your best, not doing what you need to do to utilize all your assets. And once you realize it, it takes you that much longer to claw out of the blind little hole you've dug in order to scamper over to the safe zone of your trench before they start firing again.
I have these times. They last about 1-2 months before I open my eyes and notice. Finally.
It was the way I was so exhausted all the time.
It was in the way my patience would go from 60 to 0 in less than a second.
It was the way I ate whatever I wanted to eat, glorifying in my guilt-less pleasure.
It was in the way that I rolled over after turning off my Sunday morning alarm.
It was the way I slowly backed away from the gym, only heading there to poop in private.
When this happens to me, I know I need an outlet. I need to let Ollie and Doug have their own time so that I can have mine to sit in silence, focus, reconnect, organize and create.
When I finally got myself to do this, I dug all the little slips of paper out of my bag, cleaned my bag, and dusted off my computer. I began reading my notes and it was funny what I found. I started remembering all these little things that Ollie had said, the way he had looked, the situations he had found himself in - and found that he, little Ollie, was teaching me about what it takes to tick. To tick productively and sensitively - and fully.
Like the time...
When I was getting a little tired of him not eating his dinner: I asked him to please eat his supper and he said, "No, let's talk. How was your day, Mama?" And I was reminded to have sweetness and interest in others.
When he was angry with us telling him what to do: He'd say, "I'm MAD about you talking!" And I'm reminded that as a little person, there's not a lot of ways he can speak up for himself.
I said I was jealous that Ollie was so little and able to do something: He said, "Someday Mama, you can do that when you're little." I said, "Oh, Ollie, I'll never be little." And he replied, "Aw, SURE you will!" And I was reminded to practice hopeful encouragement.
We check on him after he's pooped: Ollie hop off the potty, asks us to close our eyes, points to the john and says, "Surprise! I pooped THREE POOPS!" And I'm reminded of celebrating the simple joys in life.
He scurries every time I start to count to 3 (giving him multiple chances to make the correct choice, i.e.; 1, 2, 2 1/2, 2 3/4, 2 7/8...): As long as I don't say the word "three" by the time he comes back, he shrieks and goes, "Mama! You din't even to count!" And I'm reminded of the ability we have to believe what we want to believe - which can be a positive thing.
We ate a super French meal of Cassoulet and French bread (Mama had her wine), we drew on mustaches, played French jazz music and ate in candlelight: The next day I realized that it had been Bastille Day. And I was reminded of having fun just for the sake of it.
I made something new for dinner: I was really excited about it. Ollie took one bite and said, "Mama! That makes me YUCK!" And I was reminded of the importance of honesty.
We went out for a date, just the two of us: Daddy had a late meeting, so we got some hamburgs at Lion's Tap, looked at motorcycles in the Harley store and ate cheesecake at Baker's Square. We finished up with a trip to the library, too. Oliver said, "Mama, that was fun to see all da moor-cycles. Thank you Mama!" And I was reminded how one decision can go a long way.
During that same date, when I caught the waiter's eye and he agreed with me that the restaurant's rules were to eat with a fork and spoon: Ollie was using his fingers to eat the cheesecake and shrieked, "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" And I was reminded of how easily embarrassment can wound.
Oliver decided that he had to dress up like a cowboy to go outside: I went around the house trying to find all the things he had decided he needed. And I was reminded that imagination is everything.
Table napkin for a hankie, fedora for a cowboy hat, winter boots for cowboy boots
Oliver decided that he had to be a superhero before school: I was instructed to put the cape and opera gloves on him and I somehow convinced him that my cardigan was just a cape with sleeves. We ran around the outside of the house at 7:30am, stood at the top of the slide to watch out for bad guys, and swung on the swings making sure our capes flew behind us. The neighbors must've thought we were nuts, and school definitely got a kick out of it. And I was reminded that one of my jobs is to strengthen self-assuredness.
When I reminded him that we're not taking a whole box of cars to school, just one: Ollie said, "Okay, Mama! Calm down!" And I was reminded how much of a parrot kids are and to choose my words wisely.
When we've asked him to do something that's a little complicated: Washing his hair, putting on his socks, brushing his teeth; he reminds us that "I just need ta' practice a lil' bit." And I'm reminded that I need patience. I need to let him practice without hovering or showing him ways to do it faster or better.
I introduced him to his first roll down a hill: I think Ollie may have imagined it was a bit of a trick. at first He loved it, though! And I was reminded of the need to be flexible.
We were heading to Michigan: Ollie said he was going to "round up a fish." And I was reminded to view things the way kids see them.
After we left the lake and all of the cousins, Ollie started singing "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" a little differently: He started singing, "Mallory, Mallory, Mallory, Mallory, Life is but a Dream." And I was reminded that many of his memories are ours to build and foster.
He kicked a bucket at a kid in school and gave him a cut just below his eye so deep that he had to have stitches: I was mortified and offered everything we had to the parents of the stitched -p child (who said, "boys will be boys!"). Ollie just shrugged and told us, "The teacher said it's okay. S'okay." And I was reminded of how one must show calm to receive calm.
We played hospital: Ollie stood over me and said, "Hello 'dere. My name is Dr. Oliver Turk, and I'm the doctor of bad guys." And I was reminded to cultivate his positive view of the medical community.
He spilled his milk: Daddy said he'd help with the next glass and Ollie said, "Yeah, Daddy. Because that milk is a lil' drippy." And I'm reminded that everyone needs help, not scolding.
He started swim classes: The first time was great - it was brand-new opportunity, swimming in the water, what fun! Then we had the second and third classes, in which he sat on the side of the pool and the teacher spent much of the class trying to coax him to get into the water. At the end of the 30 minutes, he was in the water, splashing and having a grand old time, telling us how much fun he was having. And I'm reminded of how sometimes we all need to ease into things - especially after naps.
Ollie punched me so hard in the face that I sneezed twice: He was angry because I wouldn't let him wear his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles shirt to Kenzie's Curious George 4th birthday party. We almost didn't let him attend the party after the punch and lots of spitting, but we did out of sheer guilt because it was his grandparents' last night in town and Gaga had bought him a Man-In-The-Yellow-Hat hat. And I was reminded that some things do matter enough to start a tantrum, but not a tee-shirt.
After reading all these notes and writing this post, just like that, my attitude turned right around. I found myself calming down and thinking about all the messages my little guy was giving me.
Patience.
Flexibility.
Creativity.
Imagination.
Joy.
Encouragement.
It's in my nature to go careening just a titch out of control from time to time. I'm a pretty intense chick and I know that about myself. Even so, I do need to recognize when I need a break and when I need to take some control. But how to do I find time to create? How to make sure that I breathe and take care of myself too? Could I stick a post-it with "Take care of yourself!" on the dishes cabinet without looking like a complete weirdo to everyone who comes over? Could I hang a motivational poster in the bathroom and not scoff at it?
Maybe the answer to this isn't to change, per se. Maybe the answer is to just take a moment once a day in the craziness of life to just sit, breathe, and do something creatively. I wouldn't change, but I could take Ollie's advice and just "practice."
I'm always going to have those months when I'm in a Responsibility Fog. The trick is to recognize when it happens and not let the haze overtake me. Let it go, as the great song says. Maybe I'll cover the desk with the memories needed to create my scrapbook for 2012. Maybe I will start working out at the gym to create a better lifestyle. Or maybe I'll continue going there just for a good poop.
After all, that is one of the joys in life.
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